


Melt like the Summer Snows

by priyakli



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:33:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5420687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/priyakli/pseuds/priyakli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jus' how I want to spend my summer, traipsing round a castle with your hoity-toity family." "...I don't traipse." //Or, Ygritte meets the Starks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jon Snow had reservations. Of course he did, any would, in this situation. If only they could be like _normal_ people and introduce his girlfriend to his family over dinner at some overpriced steakhouse.

But no. His step-uncle Edmure had to go and get engaged and suddenly it is being insisted that Jon come down to Winterfell because Robb can't handle _one more second_ of everyone wedding planning, and _it's not till August I don't understand why everyone's so flustered_ and _Seriously Jon you have to get down here right now and save me and also Father demands it._

And that is under these circumstances that Jon would introduce his free spirited, strong-headed girlfriend to his equally stubborn but contrastingly conservative family.

He waits outside her dingy excuse for a flat now, waiting for her to appear. When she does, she's a blur of red hair, creamy skin and luggage. He moves to help her with her bags but she yells at him to keep his arse in the car, she can do it herself.

The car door wrenches its way open and with a huff and slam, shuts again.

Jon slides his sunglasses over his eyes and revs the engine while his pouty girlfriend sulks in the passenger seat of his car. Ghost barks from the backseat when she enters, and she twists around to scratch under his ears. He whines as the old car gives a shudder.

"See, even Ghost don't want to go."

"It's not going to be that bad." He say, for what feels like the millionth time. The red-head next to him snorts derisively.

"Jus' how I want to spend my summer, traipsing round in a fucking castle with your hoity-toity family." The anger in Ygritte's voice is somewhat contradicted by the presence of her hand on his knee, drawing small circles with her thumb.

He shifts the car into drive and peels away from the cracked curb outside her flat.

The corners of his mouth turn up at that. "It's a mansion, not a castle. And Arya may 'traipse' but she surely isn't 'hoity-toity'." He  mocks her word choices and she sticks her tongue out at him.

"Aye, I do like Arya." Ygritte replies decidedly, despite having only met Jon's littlest sister once, when she visited him at school.

"And I'm not fancy like them either."

"Fancier than me, though." She replies, and he can hear the vulnerability behind the rough delivery of her words and her pride. "With your fancy college and fancy flat." The fact that she sees Castle Black College, renowned for taking pretty much any student (good, bad, bright or dim) who is willing to be part of the draft, as fancy speak volumes about the neighboring Northern Community College she attends between shifts at the diner, working towards her GED. And his flat, though admittedly bigger than hers, was shared with Sam, Pyp, and Grenn while she lives alone- a fact he often frets about during the far and few in between nights he's not with her and hears the sirens screaming past in the direction of her neighborhood.

So Jon captures her hand in his and rubs his thumb across the top soothingly. He never was very good with words, but he tries anyway to console her.

"I'd give it all up, you know. To be with you." And it's true, he would, forgo it all to exist by her side. Ygritte turns and looks at him for the first time at that, blue blue eyes giving away her pride at his utterance of the sentiment.

"Just be glad we live in a world where you don't have to." As always her words contain a depth of worldliness, of experience, that his, or anyone he's ever met save maybe his father, ever had.

She's uncomfortable with the emotion swimming in his liquid chocolate eyes and turns the conversation to one of her favorite subjects, complaining about Orell and how she had to fight _tooth and nail_ to get him to let her take time off Ryder's Diner and how she finally just went over his fat head to Tormund, but even then they almost had to bring _Mance himself_ in and Jon's lucky that her bosses like him well enough, well except Orell, and if he didn't bring her back in _one piece_ and unaffected by the fancy folk they'd have his hide a thousand times over...

Her chatter washes over him and he can only nod and hmm along as he drives along the winding road leading home.

They drive for what seems like forever through what seems like the middle of nowhere but the road is familiar to Jon. Ygritte cranes her neck out the window because _I want to see everything._

_/_

When Winterfell finally appears on the horizon, Ygritte utters a long, low whistle but says nothing else, and Jon can practically see the scathing comments floating around her head. But she notices his white knuckles, and opts instead to arch an eyebrow.

There is no great homecoming for Jon Snow, no pomp, no procession. But Robb meets him at the gates and embraces him the second his feet hit the ground. He hears a shout and then there she is, Arya running at him and flinging herself into his awaiting arms.

He spins her around and remarks that she hasn't grown _at all._ The dark haired girl smacks the back of his head at that and he laughs and puts her down.

Ghost bounding out behind her, Ygritte then spills out of the car, stretching and grumbling about being in the car for fucking ever and this mansion better have hot water and _Gods_ , its enormous. Jon grabs her hand and pulls her to his side.

"Robb, Arya, this is-" He goes to introduce her but she cuts him off, offering a hand to Jon's half- brother.

"Ygritte Wilde." She says and shakes Robb's hand heartily. "And I've already met Arya, you idiot."

Arya waves at her from the other side of the ginning Jon and Ygritte gives her wink.

"Very nice to meet you, Ygritte." Robb says as the group begins walking towards the castle sized house. "Finally. Seems like Jon has been hiding you away from us for some time."

"Or vice versa." Ygritte says with a cocksure grin. "Maybe I've been hiding Jon from you lot." Arya giggles and Jon chuffs her lightly on the head.

Ygritte cranes her head and marvels at the sight as they amble through the courtyard that leads to the main doors. Jon is surprised at the soft look of wonder on her face, rather than the expressions of disgust he expected.

They enter the door then, and are greeted by complete and total pandemonium.

"Ygritte, I've changed my mind. Let's go back north." A white faced, stricken Jon says. Ygritte nods mutely.

Before them, time appears to be moving in threefold. At the helm of the room stands Catelyn Stark, deep red hair perfectly in place. Her attention, however, is divided a million different ways. She shouts disapprovingly as Rickon and Shireen Baratheon wheel Bran at breakneck speed across the hall, her worry matched only by that of Jojen Reed. Jory badgers Cat with questions as she attempts to simultaneously direct the movement of a futon into the den and hold a conversation about expenses with Mr. Luwin. A pair for boys in corner, one tall and dark with striking eyes and the other short and stout and covered in what must be flour, are arguing quite loudly over what constitutes a good football match. Theon is engaged in an escalating shouting match with Sansa's new and very, very large boyfriend, while Sansa herself tearily tries to talk Sandor Clegane down. Ned Stark is nowhere to be found, but Jon suspects he's in his office, dealing with his never-ending work.

Robb shakes his head at it all and goes to save Theon from yet another fight he's destined to lose. Catelyn's eyes flick to Jon, then to the fiery, wiry redhead beside him and her frown deepens. Arya slides away from Jon and joins the two boys in the corner, pushing the fat one from a chair and taking it for herself. Jon narrows his eyes at the gaze the tall one directs at his oblivious sister, but his attention is quickly redirected when he feels a large hand clasp his shoulder.

"Son."

Jon turns and there he is, Eddard Stark.

"Father." Jon replies.

"I had meant to meet you at the gate." The taller man lets his hand fall from Jon's shoulder, and then notices the woman beside his son. "And this is?"

"Father, this is Ygritte."

Ygritte gives him a firm handshake. "His girlfriend." She tacks on, seeing the question in Ned eyes, never one to beat around the bush.

"Oh?" Ned says with obvious surprise, and Ygritte gives him one of her infectious smiles "I look forward to getting to know you, Ygritte."

"Likewise. Maybe it'll help me understand why this one's always so serious." She earns a chuckle at that. Catelyn glides over just then, resting her hand on her husband's arm and looking questioningly to Ygritte.

"Cat, my love, Jon's arrived. And this is his girlfriend, Ygritte." Ned says to her before she can ask.

"Another guest? Gods, half of Westeros is staying with us this summer." Cat sighs. "Well, I suppose you could stay with Sansa tonight while I prepare one of the empty guest rooms."

"Oh, no need for that, I'll be bunking with Jon." Ygritte says casually, intertwining  her fingers with Jon's. Jon is vindictively amused by the taken aback look on his step mother's face. "If you'll excuse me though, I'd rather not have me bags smelling like the inside of Jon's car." She departs abruptly back towards the car, leaving Jon with his parents.

"And you couldn't have informed us you were bringing a guest?" Catelyn remarks angrily. "And one with no propriety at that."

"Cat." Ned warns and his wife tsks and stalks away. Ned shoots Jon an apologetic look, and Jon simply shrugs, turning on his heel to go get his own bags.

Ygritte cackles maniacally as Jon attempts to carry his black suitcases, two backpacks, and her overstuffed, beat up duffle bag down the basement stairs to his old room, and when he falls down the stairs she nearly falls over laughing at the sight of his red, sweat sheened face when it emerges from the pile of luggage on top of him.

"Very attractive." He says dryly as she clutches her stomach and snorts in her mirth.

"It's what you get for living in a house with multiple floors in the fuckin' basement." She gasps to catch her breath. "My poor Jon Snow, vanquished by a couple of bags."

"As if you could carry them all." Jon retaliates.

"Aye, but I'm a poor helpless female." She asserts sarcastically, backing slowing along the stairs he just fell down. "And if you can't carry my bags down a flights of stairs, I wonder, why do I keep you around?" She bends down and gives him a tantalizing view down her shirt and he swallows visibly. She grins cruelly, knowing exactly the effect she has on him

"You want me to show you why you keep me around?" He questions huskily. Ygritte hums and he sees desire in her eyes, warm and bright like her hair. He fights his way free from the cage of bags and moves towards her, but he's too late, she's running down the rest of the stairs swiftly, leaving him on the landing.

"How you going to know which room is mine?" He shouts at her as she disappears around a corner and down a hallway. A door slams in response, and Jon smiles and gives chase.

He enters his room, slamming the door shut behind him, marveling at the redhead inspecting every corner of his rather bare childhood room.

"How'd you know this one's mine?" He asks, puzzled. Ygritte rolls her eyes.

"You know nothing." She kicks her shoes off. "But I know you." She pulls her shirt over her head and the flat plane of her stomach is exposed, and a simple white bra supports her small, supple breasts. Her nimble fingers unbuckle her belt and the thought of what else those fingers can do makes the crotch of Jon's jeans grow uncomfortably tight. She slinks towards him, dropping her shorts to the ground and kicking them behinds her, and moves to do the same to his pants.

"Ygritte." He growls and she licks her lips in response. "We can't. We've been here for five minutes, we can't." She unclasps her bra and it too falls to ground. His pupils widen as he takes in the sight.

"We can." She rasps, face centimeters from his own, and he can't keep his arms from snaking around her waist. "And we will." She pulls his mouth down to her own, and he's truly done for now as her hot breath mingles with his and she nips at his bottom lip. He stops her teasing by kissing her roughly, deeply almost angrily. She breaks the kiss only to pull his sweater from his body, then proceeds to back him up against the door. She jumps to wrap her legs around his hips and his hands move from her waist to grab her ass and he flips them so she's against the door, in order to better support her weight.

He loses himself there, as he can only in Ygritte's embrace, feeling nothing but the push and pull of her lips against his, the tug of her hands tangling in his messy curls, the burn of the heat arising between them. She tastes like mint and snow, cool, wild and biting but her tongue is warm and so is the rest of her. His hand roam across the parts of her perfect body that he can reach, from her bony hips to her ribcage, and then caressing her soft breasts, smiling against her lips when she sighs in response.

She reaches down to unbutton his jeans and struggles to push them past his hips. He laughs when she growls with growing frustration. Jon spins them around and crosses the room in two quick strides, depositing her on the bed. Ygritte slides off her underwear as Jon pushes his jeans down and then he's on top of her and then he's inside her and oh _yes, Jon,_ _didn't I tell you this was a good idea?_ His hands tangle in her hair and then move to her breasts, mouth roaming from her lips to her neck and he _groans_ deep and loud as she picks up the pace.

He finishes before she does but when he snakes down her stomach with his tongue and lowers his mouth to her she positively _wails_ his name _._

It’s not long until she's flushed, panting, and satiated, head lolling against his musty blue sheets and he brings himself up to collapse beside her.

"That was ill advised." He says lowly in her ear. Ygritte lazily turns her head and meets his gaze.

"So sex with me is ill advised now is it?" She raises her eyebrows at him. He moves his head in closer and kisses the tip of her nose.

"You know I didn't mean it like that."

"I know." She replies with a bit of a smirk but he can read the vulnerability behind it. "No need to be so serious."

Jon traces the words then, the words she won't let him say over the freckles on her shoulder and thinks that if he can't tell her that he loves her, then now might be a good time for a nap.

 /

When he wakes up about an hour later and his slim, red headed girlfriend is conspicuously missing from his arms. He props himself up on his elbows and looks around blearily.

Ygritte's curled up, knees to her chest and chin on her knees in his old desk chair, eyes trained on him as he rubs his eyes and sits up. The dark blue of his sweater that she has donned makes the color of her eyes seem endless. Swimmable even.

She sees she he's up and after holding his gaze for a few seconds, pounces over to curl up in his lap.

"You're awake." She whispers into his bare chest and he buries his nose in her hair, inhaling the smell of her.

" Was I sleeping long?"

"'Bout an hour." Ygritte shrugs and the motion makes his sweater fall off one of her shoulder.

"We should probably go upstairs though, so you can meet everyone else." Jon says.

Ygritte nuzzles herself impossibly closer to him.

"Do we have to?" She whines. "I'd rather stay here. With you."

Jon kisses the top of her head. "Come on. We've got to get dressed."

Ygritte cranes her head to meet his gaze. "No. I'm very comfortable." She nestles back and her eyes flutter closed, eyelashes brushing against his bare skin.

"Ygritte. Give me my sweater. Put on your pants."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

A knock at the door cuts off their bickering.

"Jon?" comes Robb's voice. "I've been sent to inform you that dinner is served and ask if you and Miss Wilde would grace us with your presence. Clothing, and here I quote my mother directly, is not only preferred but in fact mandatory."

Jon heaves himself of the bed and grabs his jeans, boxers still inside, from the floor and slides them on. Ygritte meanwhile shifts so that she occupies the warm spot Jon left behind, curling up like a cat.

When Jon swings the door open he sees with mortification that their bags have been placed neatly outside his door.

"Mother had me help her bring these up as an apology when we found them on the landing." Robb offers as an explanation from his place leaning against the wall.

"How long ago?" Jon asks with a sense of impending doom.

"Oh, just over an hour ago." A smirk grows on Robb's face while a look of horror grows on Jon's.

"No." Jon whispers with dismay. "Oh no."

"Not a quiet one you got there, eh?"

Jon drags and hand down his face. "Oh no." He repeats.

"Oh, _yes_ , Jon Snow" Robb whines in a girly falsetto. "Oh _Jon_ , faster please-" Jon shoves him hard and attempts to put him in a headlock as Robb laughs at the cherry red of his brother's face.

"Pretty sure I don't sound like that." Ygritte appears in the door way, a grin on her face, Jon's sweater just barely hanging over her cotton panties and _Gods, he's have her again right now if only he could_. "More likely you heard Jon and not me."

Robb's laughter grows all the louder at that, despite having his head wedged between Jon's elbow and side, and Jon flushes redder as Ygritte gives a little shimmy back into his room.

Robb himself blushes when she tosses the sweater through the door way.

"Come on boys, dinner's ready, so we should be too!"

Jon releases Robb with a huff and scoops his sweater up from the floor. With a roll of his neck and a painful sounding crack, Robb rights himself and starts down the stairs.

"See you up there."

Jon makes a gun out of his fingers and mimes pulling the trigger.

Ygritte's half-dressed and attempting to comb her mussed and wild hair with her fingers when Jon re-enters the room.

"You made a mess of me." She gives up and scrapes her tresses into a messy ponytail. After checking her appearance uninterestedly in the mirror once, Ygritte throws on her shoes while Jon slides into his and the pair head to the formal dining hall.

He hears her disbelieving snort as she cranes her graceful neck to stare at the high vaulted ceilings. She spins in a slow circle, and it takes Jon a minute to remember that Ygritte's probably never been in a room of this size and opulence. He grabs her dangling hand and tugs her out of her reverie.

To compensate for the number of guests staying with the family, the hall had two long tables set up. Jon spots Arya sulking at being placed at the "kids" table as he and Ygritte make their way over to open chairs next to Sansa and quite possibly the largest man Jon had ever seen.

"Oh. Hello there!" Sansa says, with her voice like bells as the two take their seats. "I hadn't realized you were here, Jon."

"Yes, we had lots to unpack." Jon clears his throat and pinches Ygritte in a bad attempt to stifle her laughter. She punches his shoulder in retaliation and then offers her hand to Sansa.

"I'm Ygritte." Sansa seems taken back by the force by which Ygritte shakes their clasped hands. "And you are?"

"Sansa." Replies the young woman, exquisite eyes apprising the woman she had only heard about through short conversations with Robb or Arya's chattering. "You taught my sister how to shoot a bow and arrow."

"Well she knew a fair amount already." Ygritte shrugged. "Better shot than her brother though." Jon snorts and rolls his eyes, and he remembers the day when Arya struggled to draw Ygritte's too-big bow and how the snowflakes had coated both their hair, one dark and one red but both wild, as Arya shot again and again under Ygritte's direction.

"Arya tried to shoot my ex boyfriend." Sansa says blandly, and Ygritte looks puzzled.

"That the yellow haired one?" She asks Jon, who nods stonily. "Heard he was a right piece of work."

"Yes, Joffrey." Sansa says with an air of sad contemplation."He was a quite a monster, in the end." The mountain of a man next to her snorts derisively.

"Puttin' it lightly, little bird." He says in a gravelly voice. The man looks vaguely familiar to Jon, but it's not until said man turns to lift Sansa's trembling chin with surprising gentleness that Jon can place him.

"The Hound?" He says under his breath and Ygritte nudges him, questions burning in her eyes. Jon clears his throat and speaks louder. "Weren't you and your brother the Lannister's bodyguards?"

"The Hound, you can say it. Name's Sandor Clegane though." Sansa gives gentle smile at his gruff response.

"I met him when I was with Joffrey, at boarding school down south." She says, blushing delicately. Ygritte reckons to herself there is nothing the girl doesn't do delicately. "And then again up here a couple months ago when Arya ran into some trouble."

Sansa seems unwilling to disclose the exact nature of their relationship, an oddity for her, but Jon can see quite clearly the protective glint in the Hound's eyes, and the devotion behind it and decides not to question.

"Maybe you can answer, Sansa." Ygritte speaks up. "If it's your uncle whose gettin' hitched this summer, who are all these people and why are they all here?"

Sansa shrugs in response. "It's just how it is in the summers. Everyone stays here, and lots of people come over for just dinner." She pauses to sip her water. "Jon's never brought a girl home though." A bit of a smirk appears on her lips.

Ygritte grins. "No, I expect not. You know, the first time w-umph!" She exclaims as Jon's hand on her mouth cuts her off.

"First time what?" Arya says from behind Jon, having migrated over at some point during the conversation.

"Nothing." Jon says, with a pointed look at Ygritte, releasing his hand from her mouth. She bites in his direction as he does.

"Jon, you've just come back and you've _barely_ talked to me at _all._ " Arya whines. "Tell Mother to let me sit next to you." Jon can't hold back a snort and replies. "I'm not sure that would help your case kiddo. Better luck asking her yourself, and promising not to try and sneak wine from my cup." Arya grins and bounds off to beg Catelyn's permission.

"Speaking of drink?" Ygritte nods in the direction of her empty cup. Jon fills it for her as Sansa names the people around that tables.

"Across from us are Rodrik and Jory Cassel, my father's assistants, and our old nursemaid Miss Mordane, and some of the other staff. Next to them is Theon Greyjoy, Robb's friend who practically lives here and then Robb of course. My father and mother at the head, then Mr. Luwin who keeps the house in order. Our Uncle Benjen and Yoren, you might know them, they work at Castle Black, Rickard Karstark, a business partner I assume, and one of his sons. After dinner those two, Father and Robb will disappear to talk work, they always do when the Karstarks come for dinner."

"Never knew eatin' to be an affair." Ygritte comments, eyebrows raised. Both Jon and the Hound laugh at that.

"You'll learn soon, girl." Sandor guffaws. "Takin' a shit's an affair for these high born folks." His laughter is cut off as Arya skips back with her mother's agreement.

"You didn't say anything about the other table!" Arya exclaims. Sansa rolls her eyes. "Right there, those are my friends Hot Pie and Gendry, from school. That's my brother Bran, in the wheelchair and his friends Jojen and Meera and that giant man is Hodor, and Osha, she's from the North like you, they look after Bran, and next to 'em is my other brother Rickon. Shireen, the little girl, was sent here for the summer by the Baratheon's and they get on. Jon, have they taught anything new in combat class?" Arya talks and switches subjects a million miles a minute.

 "Nothing I should tell you." Jon says as his sister takes a seat next to him. "How's high school?" He knows the gist of it from her frequent phone calls, but figures that she's itching to tell him anyways.

"It's okay." Arya shrugs. "Homeroom with Mr. Beric is fun, Gendry and Hot Pie are in there with me. Mr. Baelish is slimy, just like you said, but Father says I have to behave round him. PE was stupid, so Father arranged it so my fencing lessons with Syrio count for it. Braavosi is easy, but Mr. H'gar is a good teacher. "

"How is Syrio's teaching?" Jon asks, having been trained by Rodrik Cassel in the Westorsi style of combat with Robb and Theon.

Arya giggles. "He calls your style clumsy, while ours is like a dance." Jon smiles at the passion in her voice.

"You'll have to show me what you've learned." Jon says and Arya beams.

"Gendry'll fight me, I try to teach him, but he's not very good." Ygritte laughs at that.

"Jon's tried to teach me some things." She says, eyes bright with the memory. "He worries 'bout me so I let 'im to get 'im to shut up about it."

"And?" Arya asks, leaning forward.

"It did not end well."

_"Right so someone attacks you from behind, what do you do?"_

_"Kick 'em in the balls."_

_"What if that doesn't work."_

_"It always works."_

_"Can you please just practice it my way?"_

_"Believe me, if we were practicin' your way of attacking me from behind, I sure as Hell wouldn't kick you in the b-"_

_"Ygritte!"_

Jon laughs at the memory, and remembers how she had cajoled him into practicing a very different kind of exercise when she cornered him in the men's locker room showers. He reaches to grasp her hand above the table, and doesn't miss the upturn of her pale pink lips when he does.

Meanwhile, at the head of the table, Ned stands up, holding his cup of wine in front of him in a toast.

"Thank you everyone for being here." He says, deep voice rebounding around the hall as everyone quiets. "Welcome to  our new guests, and to Jon. It's a pleasure to finally have you home, my son." Jon nods at him father, inclining his glass in the older man's direction.

"Cheers!" Arya shouts, and Ygritte leans around Jon to clink her wine filled cup with her water filled one.

/

After a meal that Ygritte assures Jon could feed the entirety of her people for four years, they are ushered into the den. A fire blares in the room, and Ygritte leaves his side quickly to study the antique rifle displayed atop the mantle.

"Hello." She's torn from her contemplation by the sound of a deep voice behind her, and turns to see Ned Stark.

"'Ow heavy is it?" Ygritte asks, nodding towards the sword.

"Heavier than it looks, if you'll believe that. But I haven't held it in many years."

"It's beautiful." She says

"In a way. Ygritte, what do you do up North?" Ned questions, passing her a glass filled with a dark liquid. Ygritte hums in appreciation at the familiar taste of ale, strong, bracing and utterly Northern in comparison to the sweet, summer wine served with dinner.

"I'm military." Ygritte replies. "When they need me." From there the conversation flows easily, Ygritte explaining her role in the Northern forces and Ned commenting with his own experiences in war, and explaining his transition into a businessman. Ygritte is struck by how much of Jon she finds in this serious man, despite the two looking nothing alike.

Meanwhile across the dimly lit room, a similar drink is poured for Jon by Robb.

"How's everything?" The older man probes lightly and Jon drink deeply from his glass.

"It's very strange to be here again." Robb knows that Jon's not had an easy time at the military school. The corrupt leadership of Thorne is well know, and Robb knows his half-brother not to be one to stand for it. Jon has many complaints about the place, and Robb hears them all, unable to offer anything more than sympathy.

"It is how I met her though." Jon says after his rant. "She belongs to her community college's military program, and we are responsible for training 'em. You'll have to get her to shoot for you, she's the best damned marksman you'll ever see."

"Aren't you technically her superior then?" Robb questions. Jon nods, conflict evident on his serious features.

"It's completely against the rules." He says. "But with Ygritte... well, sometimes it feels like I had no choice in the matter."

"You love her?"

Jon can't tell if it's a question or a comment.

"Yes."

The conversation halts when Bran makes his way over.

"Jon!" He says and Jon grins and falls to his knees to embrace him.

"Bran."

And despite it all, despite Catelyn and Alistair Thorne, the constant threat of losing Ygritte due to a few rules, the wear and tear in Robb's eyes, the loss of innocence he's observed in Arya, despite all this, in this very moment Jon feels happy.

//


	2. Chapter 2

Arya's desperate to show Jon her swordplay, so the next day when the sun is bright and shining she, Jon, Gendry Ygritte, and the boy she refers to as the fat one set off to the river. Arya carries three swords, the thin intricate one Jon had made for her years ago, and two practice blades. Hot Pie bears a large basket of food. Ghost bounds alongside Jon, Ygritte brings her bow upon request, and Gendry brings nothing but a frown.

"I  can't believe you're making me do this again." He groans. "You said the last time you beat me would be the last time."

Arya makes a face. "Well Jon's here now so suck it up."

Gendry sighs and Jon shoots him his coldest look, disliking of the boy who gazes too long at his sister. Gendry's expression from anger turns to fear.

Ygritte appears to find the entire situation horribly amusing.

 The river is full and clear, its banks grassy and green.

"Let's see it then." Jon says, taking a seat. Arya hands him Needle, and Ygritte flops down next to him on her stomach, elbows propping up her chin.

Arya throws Gendry one of the wooden swords and takes her stance, confidence rolling off her with every movement.

Within five minutes she's disarmed him twice.

"Can we stop now?" Gendry groans.

"No." Ygritte laughs. "This is the funniest thing I've ever seen."

They start again. Gendry, apparently just accepting his fate, lunges forward. Arya sidesteps and whaps him in the stomach.

"Remember what I said about standing sideways?"

Gendry spins but Arya ducks and lunges behind him to hit him in the back.

"Don't just stand there."

He tries again, lashing out wildly with his sword. Arya avoids him with ease, hitting his arm. He drops his sword and she picks it up, pointing both blades at him, with a bit of a bow.

Jon claps loudly while Ygritte bursts into applause and cheers. The fat one-Hot Pie?- seems uninterested with the entire affair and picks at the grass around his legs.

Arya throws the practice swords to the side and Gendry collapses onto his back.

"Every fucking time." He groans, and Arya laughs.

"Come on." She says and offers him a hand. Gendry's smiling when she hauls him up, and shakes her hand.

"Unbeatable, as always." He remarks, and Arya grins, his clear blue eyes looked on hers. Jon's eyes narrow as the gaze goes on, and Arya's the one to break it, whirling around on Ygritte.

"Come on then, I want to see you shoot." the dark haired girl says, and Ygritte can't tell if the flush on her face is from the fighting or Gendry.

"Alrigh' then." Ygritte says, jumping up to her feet. "Oi, fat one."

"Hot Pie."

"Whatever. You got an apple in that basket?" Hot Pie tosses one too her and she throws it over to Arya.

"Where do you want it?"

"Your pick."

Arya runs with the make shift target and places it about 50 meters away on a rotting tree stump. Ygritte meanwhile draws her bow several times without an arrow.

"Why you doin' that?" Questions Hot Pie.

"To warm it up." Ygritte replies. "This is an old bow, ain't nothing like those fancy plastic ones they got floating 'round these days."

When Arya gives her the thumbs up Ygritte notches and arrow, and prepares to pull.

"Hold on!" Gendry shouts. "Let Arya move out of the way."

"She's fine."

"Well what if you miss?!"

"I don't intend t' miss. But if you don't shut up I might just hit you instead. Gods know your face is red enough to be taken for an apple." And with that in one fluid movement Ygritte draws, the large bow bending obediently under her strength, and releases. There's a sharp wiz, a twang, and then a shout of excitement from Arya.

"You should see her do it with a gun." Jon says to a silenced Gendry.

Ygritte shoots a few more arrows for Arya, at various targets and then lets the younger girl try it herself.

"She's got quite a talent." Ygritte remarks to Jon as Arya looses arrows after arrow into a nearby tree trunk. "Keep your elbow high, stop thinking so much!"

Jon smiles with pride as Ygritte makes small adjustments to Arya's form, remembering the days when he would teach his sister the basics of fencing in secret. Ygritte pulls him from it, with a tug on his hand. "Come on, I'm hungry."

They demolish the food Hot Pie brought (Ygritte has to admit it is pretty good), and afterwards Arya dares Ygritte to jump in the river.

"You Southern folks."  Ygritte scoffs, kicking off her shoes. "You 'ave no idea what's cold and what ain't." And with that she jumps in the water. Arya yelps when the splash hits her, and then jumps in too with a yell. The two girls splash each other, both laughing and shrieking from the cold.

"Come on Gendry!" She shouts, scooping water into her hands and throwing it up in the air. Gendry shakes his head vehemently.

"I don't swim."

"Your last name is _literally_ Waters." Arya exclaims, and quick as a cat grabs his arm and pulls him in. He splutters and she laughs manically.

"I'll get you for that!" Gendry shouts, stumbling to his feet as Arya struggles to laugh and run away at the same time.

Ygritte in the meantime hops out of the water, her white shirt clinging to her body in a way Jon thinks should be illegal.

"I'm not going in the river, Ygritte." Jon warns. Ygritte grins.

"I know. So I'll bring th' river to you!" She pounces on his back, and he immediately feels the cold water soaking him. He hooks his elbows under her knees and walks them away from the river, not trusting her to change her mind and push him in.

When he's satisfied with the distance from the water and the still feuding Arya and Gendry, the boy having now slung Arya over his shoulder, Jon lets Ygritte down. She lies down on her back, in the grass in the sun, arms crossed behind her head. Her eyes flutter closed and there's a small smile on her face.

"Come on Jon Snow." She says. "Time to dry off." Jon lays on his stomach next to her, the back of his shirt being the wettest part of him.

"Must've been nice, growin' up 'ere."

"Parts of it." Jon says. Ygritte turns her head to look into his eyes.

"What parts?"

"My siblings. Arya, and Robb. Bran and Rickon. My father always treated me well. The Godswood, and days like this, when it's bright and there's a sun." Ygritte hums and her hair looks extra bright in the sunlight. "But usually it's dark and grim here."

"So you decided t' go North, where it's always so bright and sunny?" Ygritte mocks. Jon smiles at her.

"I decided I'd go where I might belong."

"And where's that?"

Jon closes the small gap between them, and he's near enough to see the water droplets blinking on her skin, kisses her lightly.

"With you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for clarity reasons: there will be many more chapters in this story, mostly of these characters being happy and alive as opposed to sad and dead.


	3. Chapter 3

The third day at Winterfell it rains. Jon wakes to a cold draft, and blinks blearily as he untangles himself from his sheets. His eyes find Ygritte, whose hung her torso half out the basement's tiny window. Her face is distorted and fuzzy through the pane of glass, but he can see her grin as the raindrops land amongst her freckles.

"What in seven hells are you doing?" He grumbles, the red numbers on his alarm clock reminding him of the ungodly hour of the morning. Ygritte pulls herself back into the room, bright hair darkened by the rain. "It's raining." She declares as she skips back over to the bed.

"I can see that." Jon flops back down on the mattress, attempting to hide from his way-to-energetic-for-this-hour girlfriend. She tugs on his bicep, but even her archer's arms couldn't lift his solid mass. He squeezed his eyes shut stubbornly, trying desperately to escape back to sleep, but Ygritte's lips brush oh-so-lightly over the creases of the corner of his eyes, then drift to his cheek and he can smell the rain on her and he may as well give in now to whatever she wants because he's destined to lose.

"Let's go outside." She whispers into his ear. "I want to see the Godswood." Jon sits up suddenly and relishes the look of surprise on Ygritte's face as he kisses her fully.

"And it can't wait?" He says when they part for breath, a familiar edge to his voice. Ygritte returns his kisses with passion, but breaks it off with a laugh.

"Stop distractin' me with your clever tongue, Jon Snow. I'm going to the forest."

Jon feels like a boy again as they sneak through Winterfell's halls, feels the old familiar guilt and anger and sorrow snapping at his heels as he keeps pace with Ygritte's quick and light strides.

The melancholy weighs him down and he nearly loses her in the fog creeping over the grassy hills skirting Winterfell, the rain reduced to a drizzle.

"Ygritte!" He calls and hears her voice call back from behind him. He turns and there she is, wearing one of his raincoats because she neglected to bring her own, red hair almost glowing in the misty air.

"Which way?" She asks and Jon grabs her hand and pulls her towards the old woods.

She grows quieter and quieter as they progress further and further into the forest, but Jon recognizes the changes in her gait, the softening of her features as not signs of sadness. This is where Ygritte was most comfortable, where she was meant to exist. _Wild, to her core_ he thinks to himself.

When they reach the weirwood, he hears her intake of breath. Jon knows she keeps the old gods, just as he and his family do, but he can't help but feel that somehow it means more to her, that her connection to this weeping tree and all that it signifies runs deeper than he could ever know.

She lets go of his hand and moves to stand under the tree, and Jon thinks this is perhaps the most beautiful she's ever been. The deep red of leaves are a few shades darker than the bright hue of her hair, and the bone white of the tree makes her ivory skin look rosy and warm. Her eyes, usually so bright and clear, look as deep and hazy as the water in the pool. His too-big raincoat hangs off her shoulders and shows off her sharp collarbones and the elegant column of her neck as she gazes at the branches above her.

"Do you like it?" Jon asks lowly.

"I do." She whispers. And Jon tries in vain to swallow the lump on his throat when at those words an image blossoms in his mind of this exact scene, with her in a white dress and him asking a different question, and then saying the words, the old words together in harmony.

He's pulled out of his reverie as she speaks again.  
"My bow." She say. "It's from a weirwood, did you know?" Jon shakes his head mutely, and a small smile appears on her lips.

"When I was younger, after me parent were gone, it was the only thing I had left in the world. Didn't know nothin' bout it, except that it was my father's and that it was special." She continues. "I didn't have nowhere to live, so I kept it hid it in the hollow of a tree in the woods, bigger woods than these though. Anyways, one day some Thenns found it, and I fought 'em tooth and nail to get it back. One of the bastards had a knife." Her fingers brush over a thin line on the side of her neck, one he wasn't allowed to ask about, an old scar, a deep scar, as white as the bark of the weirwood. "Woulda died for it, right then and there 'cept Tormund found me and tracked them Thenn boys down and put an end to it all."

Jon tries to keep his face from betraying the sympathy he feels for her, because she hates his sympathy, but she must have noticed the press of his eyebrows together, as she visibly shakes herself free from the memory. She sits then, beneath the tree and next to the pool, and wraps her arms around her legs. Jon can't ever remember her being this quiet, and it scares him.

"At Castle Black I was sworn-in in the Godswood." He says, mostly to himself. "It was a grove, with nine different weirwoods. I'd never seen more than one in any one place."

"Aye." Ygritte replies. "Used to be whole forests of 'em, even in the South, that's what Tormund says. Come sit with me." Jon does as she says. He drapes and arm around her shoulders and she immediately folds herself into his side.

Their reflection in the pool is so clear, so lifelike that for a second Jon thinks maybe it is them, just staring back from another universe. But then it starts to rain again, and the few drops that manage to break their way through the dense forest canopy disturb the image. Jon watches the rain fall and relishes the feel of her warm figure beside him.

When they're both soaked through, with no sign of the rain letting up, Ygritte gives in with a sigh.

"Might as well head back." She stands, brushing mud off her jeans. "Can't get any wetter at this point." She hauls Jon to his feet.

When they finally make it back to Winterfell, the household is up. Robb passes them on his way to the kitchen as on the stoop they struggle out of their muddy shoes in near hysterics. Their sopping socks leave footprints as they race down the stairs, and when they finally burst into his room, the chill had seeped deep into Jon's bones, but Ygritte's laugh is light and warm and he smiles nonetheless.

While Ygritte takes what she assures him will be the world's longest and hottest shower, Jon changes into sweats and a dry t-shirt, and heads up to the kitchen to make some tea. Robb is there, eating a bowl of cereal and reading the newspaper.

"Morning." Jon says as he puts the kettle on.

"What have you been up too?" Robb asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Ygritte wanted to see the Godswood." Jon replies and turns on the stove. "At six o clock in the morning in the pouring rain."

"Adventurous one, then."

Jon snorts. "You don't know that half of it" Robb waggles his eyebrows suggestively at Jon, who in turn rolls his eyes. "Sports?" Asks Jon, nodding toward the paper. His brother tosses it to him and a comfortable silence settles over the two as the kettle boils. Jon read football scores and Robb reads national news, small comments peppering the blanket of quiet. When the kettle's shriek eventually breaks the silence, Jon makes three cups of tea, placing one in front of Robb and taking the other two back to his room.

Ygritte's out of the shower and back into the old tee and loose cloth shorts she uses as pajamas, sitting cross legged on his bed. He hands her a cup and sits beside her.

"Careful, its hot." Jon warns her but she gulps some anyways and winces as it burns her tongue.

"Told you so." He says as she curses under her breath.

Jon turns on the TV Catelyn had installed in his room years previously in what was probably a ploy to keep him out of sight. Ygritte steals the remote from him and starts flipping through the channels rapidly, landing on an older action movie.

"Can't we watch something else?" Jon complain, slouching against the headboard. Ygritte slides back to lean against him and he pulls the comforter over them both, sheet balled up somewhere at the bottom of the bed.

"What you want t' see stupid cows cry over their wedding dresses?" Ygritte mocks, her wide grin showing her slightly crooked teeth. "Or maybe one of them 'Allmark movies?"

"No." Jon contests, affronted. "I've just seen this before, that's all."

"If you say so." She pacifies, snuggling further under the covers, her wet hair leaving a damp splotch on Jon's shirt. She feels his attempts to hide his winces though, at the sound of gunshots coming from the speakers and thinks on what he's told her about Castle Black, about the training, corrupt leadership, about the fighting and the internal rebellion and the bloodshed, and switches the channel to Pirates of the Caribbean. He nuzzles his nose into her mop of hair.

Jack Sparrow swaggers on screen as Jon sips his teas and tells an enraptured Ygritte various stories of the Salladhor Saan, the famed pirate and sellsail of the Summer Isles.

"I'm going to go there someday." Ygritte says. "Dorne. The Summer Isles. Far South, where it never snows and there's always sun."

"You'll burn." Jon replies, stroking the fair ivory of her check with his thumb.

"Burns fade." She says, eyes flicking to his hand.

"Yes well. I'm afraid I wouldn't be very helpful as a guide." Jon says, flexing his hand twice. "I've never been South either."

"Why'd I need a guide?" Ygritte asks, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. She feels Jon shrug. "You know nothing. I don't need a guide. I just want to go. Promise me we'll go." She turns for the first time to look at him instead of the screen. He regards her for a moment, searching her solemn expression with his deep, affectionate eyes.

"I promise." He says, and it's so, so worth it to see the smile spread on her face soft and smooth as butter. She leans in and kisses him earnestly, and she smells like his shampoo but still sweet, her lips warm and light and lovely over his. He pulls away just slightly and just for a moment, because he just has to say it.

"This is the happiest I've ever been here." He whispers, words catching in his throat at the truth of it. Ygritte has no reply, just returns his lips to hers, with more urgency. Jon takes her nearly empty cup and places it next to his on the nightstand, and then shifts, cradling her head delicately as he lays it down on the smushed pillow. Ygritte wiggles out of her clothes and Jon does the same with her assistance. Their joining is slow and sweet, her legs wrapped around his waist, heat smoldering between them. He keeps his eyes locked with hers, until she throws her head back with a moan and peaks, fingernails digging into the skin of his back, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. When she opens them again Jon has his head buried in her neck, biting and sucking lightly on the juncture between her shoulder and neck, groaning her name deeply. She feels him spill into her, and buries her fingers in his curls, scraping her nails faintly against his scalp.

His weight is heavy on top of her, but she loves his nearly oppressive heat, and him still inside her. When he pulls out and rolls off her, she fights to stay as close to him as she can, curling up in his well muscled arms and falls asleep, more comforted by his tight embrace than she cares to admit.

/

When she wakes up he's changed the channel to the news, but is scrolling through his phone. He's changed their positions so that she is sprawled across his chest. She yawns and stretches, then returns to her position, tilting her head to look at Jon's face. One of his hands is lightly caressing her bare back, warm and soothing.

"H'lo." Ygritte says groggily, and Jon looks down at her.

"Hello."

What are you doing?"

"Texting Sam. Gilly's baby has colic and kept him up all night."

"Tell him hello from me."

Jon nods in affirmation and Ygritte watches his eyes track the messages across the screen.

"Gods you type slow."

"No, I'm just tying a lot. Grenn is throwing a party tonight and Sam's unhappy about it."  
"So much drama 'mongst you boys." Ygritte remarks, drawing indistinguishable figures on his bare chest. Jon sighs.

"You see now why I always come to your place?" He can feel her smile against his skin and she traces the letters Y-E-S. Jon puts down his phone and turns his attention to the news, tracing his own pictures on the small of her back.

The comfortable silence goes on until its interrupted by the growl of Ygritte's stomach.

They steal soup from the kitchen, Ygritte flirting with the cook while Jon steals two bowls and some toast and then sneaks back down the basement, Ygritte quick to follow.

Ygritte tells him stories of the First Men as they sip their lunch, and Jon loves the passion in her voice and the ancient timbre of the tales.

A thought occurs to him as she recounts the Northern defense against the Andals, her accent thick and her words informal, as they get when she's sad, or angry, or excited or when her kisses her just there. It occurs to him that could listen to her read the phonebook and hang on every single word.

He interrupts her story to spontaneously kiss her full on the lips. Ygritte yelps in surprise, but then melts into his lips.

"Didn't think tha' was a very romantic story."

"Sorry. Go on." Jon apologizes for interrupting her. Ygritte brushes the tip of her nose against his and launches back into her recounting of the First Men's slaughter of the Andals, and Jon can't help but hope the rain never ends.


	4. Chapter 4

The next two weeks pass with relative ease. Ygritte surprises Jon every day with how  easily she melds with his family, from her long, effortless conversations with his father to her developing friendship with Robb, and when she helps Bran shoot an arrow from her bow and it actually hits the target, Jon feels downright ashamed for ever doubting her.

Catelyn beams at Ygritte across the dinner table that night as Bran goes on and on about it.

Robb and Jon employ her help when they corner Gendry for a little chat about Arya.

"So." Robb says, sitting down very close to Gendry in the den. "You've got it bad for our little sister."

Jon sulks in the corner, his stormy expression downright threatening, and Ygritte's sprawled out in the loveseat, face contrastingly happy.

"What?"

"You heard him." growls Jon. "You and Arya."

"I didn't do anything, I promise."

"They don't want your lies, boy." Ygritte chimes in.

"But I haven't, I swear."

 Jon barks an angry laugh. "You stare at her, you fight with her. That's enough."

"We're not going to stop you." Robb says diplomatically, and Jon looks like he wants nothing more that to argue that point. "We just need you to know that if you hurt her, in any way..."

"You'll wish you were dead." Jon finishes, with a frightening amount of sincerity.

"Wha...I.... I would never hurt her." Gendry protests. "You don't even know me, why would you think that?"

"That's right, I don't know you." Ygritte says idly. "But I do know tha' I like Arya better than you."

"So?!"

"So." Ygritte saunters over until she's a hairsbreadth from him. "If you 'urt _her_ , I'll 'urt _you_."

Jon is pleased to see Hot Pie sitting between Arya and Gendry at dinner that night.

Ygritte delights Rickon and Shireen with her old stories from North of the Wall, and Osha pipes in eventually as well, their accents adding a roughness to the tales that would have sounded incomplete in any other inflection.

Ygritte quickly picks up on how to handle Theon, rebuffing his comments and mocking him when he's being moody, a skill she tells Robb she's perfected over the years with Jon.

One night when Robb's sent out a search party because Theon's disappeared and _I'm sorry he made a pass at Ygritte, but he's having a one of his bad days_ , Jon catches them in the den, her red locks warm in the firelight next to his tousled brown hair,  the two of them discussing archery at length. She makes no comment on Theon's shaking hands, only distracts him with speak of the sport they both love, and Jon leaves before they notice him. She climbs onto bed that night and he pretends to be asleep when she tenderly kisses him before curling up in his side.

Time and distance had made Jon's bond with Robb weathered, so Jon revels everyday in his brother's company. They hike the land around Winterfell constantly with Ghost and Grey Wind, and often Ygritte and Theon join them, their fierce banter peppered by Robb and Jon's amused laughter. They revisit their adolescent habit of dueling, and Robb is shocked to now lose to Jon just as often as beats him. Jon finds the most pleasure however in the nightly conversations with Robb in the den, from the ones that comfort him beyond belief, the heated debates that end with Ygritte yelling at Jon to just come to bed already, to speak of the future that unsettles him with a sense of foreboding.

The house, or rather Sansa, is turned into uproar for the impending arrival of her friend from her old boarding school, Margaery Tyrell. Ygritte and Sandor are highly amused watching the graceful girl rush about to make everything perfect from their lounging positions in the living room, until Sansa has Sandor switch the mattress in Margaery's to-be rooms with his because "his is more comfortable."

"Wonder how she knows that." Ygritte says lowly and Sandor gives her a wink.

When Margaery does arrive, Ygritte understands a little why Sansa insisted the house be faultless- Margaery Tyrell herself appears to be the reincarnation of perfection. Despite what must of been days of travel, the slender woman who steps out of the absurdly nice car could have just walked off a modeling shoot for all Ygritte knows.

Sansa runs to embrace her friend, and the pitch of their shrieks makes Ghost whine. Jeyne Poole looks on with jealously, but within a few hours Margaery seems to have charmed the younger girl out of her envy.

"She's very beautiful." Ygritte remarks to Jon the evening after Margaery's first dinner with the Starks.

"Yes." Jon agrees, and her stubborn chin betrays Ygritte's jealousy. "But I prefer red-heads. They're lucky, you know."

"So I've heard." Ygritte smiles at him. "I'll let Tormund know, m' sure he'll be flattered."

"Very funny."

"We'll you're a right sight prettier than some of the bears he's brought home, I'll tell you that."

He rolls his eyes at that, and Ygritte moves to straddle him.

"Handsome man." She says softly as she unbuttons his shirt. "You're all I need."  His hands grasp at her waist, then slide up her back to unhook her bra.

"I know."

"You know nothing."

He knows can't keep his eyes off her as she moves with him, hands splayed on his chest, head thrown back. He knows he never wants to move his hands from her narrow hips, except maybe to caress her breasts and then to tangle in her hair as he adjusts them so that he's sitting up and can see ever tiny expression flit across her face.

He knows he says it when he comes, hoarsely but unmistakably tells her he _loves_ her. She makes no comment, but a smile he'd never seen before spreads across her face, a slow, secret smile that could end wars and raise monuments.


	5. Chapter 5

"Come on Jon." Robb pulls the couple from their bubble that evening, darting into the dark haired man's cave of a room. "We're going out tonight."

"No." Jon growls. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

Jon's hovering above Ygritte on his bed, clothing on but askew, their swollen lips and tousled hair making it fairly obvious the beginning of what Robb had just interrupted.

"Ygritte?" Robb asks the redhead, who stares into Jon's chocolate eyes.

"Jon?"

"No."

"Jon don't want to." Ygritte reports back, and cranes her neck up to nip at his bottom lip.

"Have it your way." Robb says. "But there's a function at the Umber's tonight so if you stay, you'll be babysitting."

/

Ygritte's laughing at the expression on Jon's face as he sits smushed next to Clegane and Sansa, knees compacted tightly against the passenger seat so that Theon, Margaery, and Jeyne in the third row can fit.

"This makes no sense." Sandor growls. "Why's Ygritte sitting passenger, she's the smallest one 'ere."

"Because I called shotgun." Ygritte snaps back, and Jon can see her mirth in every feature on her face.

"Why didn't we just take two cars again?" Whines Jeyne from the back. Robb sighs audibly.

"Because no one else would be designated driver and cabs don't go all the way out to Winterfell."

"I'd offer but-" Ygritte begins.

Jon cuts in. "But she's a terrible driver-"

" _But"_ Ygritte continues. "I plan on gettin' shitfaced and my _boyfriend_ should suppor' that 'cause then he might get lucky."

"I'll just shut up then."

"I would if I were you, boy." Sandor chuckles and Sansa scolds him.

"Don't worry little bird, you're much prettier."

"Alright let's not get into this." Robb hastily stops the debate before it can begin.

"You're all wrong, Margaery's clearly prettiest." Theon chimes in from the way, way back.

"Shut it Theon." Robb shouts back to him.

With one debate halted, another one quickly arises.

"I'm telling you, it's a bad idea." Jon warns.

"She weighs what, 'bout a hundred pounds?" Clegane scoffs. "I weigh three of her. So that means I can drink three times as much as her."

"That's not how it works." Sansa says, but is drowned out by Theon.

"I can out-drink you Ygritte, and I'm willing to bet on it."

"Excellent."

"You just nailed your own coffin shut." Jon remarks idly. Sandor scoffs.

"You gotta lot of confidence in her, boy."

"Confidence I earned." Ygritte mocks. "Sure you boy don't wan'ta back out?" Sandor and Theon hold their ground.

"Alrigh' then. Losers pay the tab."

They arrive at the club and the three storm the bar. Three shots of vodka and they're off, Robb, Jon, Margaery, Sansa and Jeyne watching amusedly. Twenty minutes, a couple beers and two whiskeys later, Theon is clearly out, but he's wailing loudly about his family so no-one comments, just leave Robb to take care of him.

Ygritte and Sandor each down a glass of scotch, and Sandor, a bit red faced, excuses himself to the bathroom.

"Come on!" Ygritte tugs on Jon's arm, eyes abnormally bright. "I want to dance."

"Ygritte."

"I'll show you how Jon Snow, you need no' worry." Jon remains in his seat, so Ygritte pouts and pulls Margaery onto the floor instead.

Jon sips his drink shakily at the sight. The red-head's hips roll easily in time with the music against the other girl's.  Her thin lips curve into a sultry smirk as she and Margaery sway and bend in close quarters. The metallic fabric of the skimpy shirt Ygritte wears and Margaery's short, bright blue dress stand out against the hazy background of the club, and Jon can easily spot their gyrating bodies amongst the horde of people. Ygritte is clearly the better dancer, her body lithe and loose, but Margaery is much prettier, the flashing lights doing nothing to distort her delicate features. Ygritte shakes her locks free from her ponytail, and a long, thin and oily man tries to insert himself between the beauties. Ygritte easily elbows him off, and Jon growls as the man attempts to grind against her anyway.

Jon downs his drink with a grimace, and weaves himself through the crowd. Ygritte shoots Margaery a wink when she spots Jon making his way towards them, and the brown haired woman gives a wave and goes off with a very tall, very handsome and very eager man.

Jon says nothing but grabs her hips and lowers his mouth to her neck. He feels her starts to sway but stays statuesque.

"'ts easy." she says into his ear, and twists her fingers in his belt loops. She pulls his body flush against hers, and begins to move them in time with the thumping music. Her feather light and fleeting touches encourage the circular movement of his hips with hers. His hands meanwhile roam her waist, and he drinks in the sight of her as she bends her back, throat bared, drops of sweat forming on her porcelain skin. He feels he could die when she turns around to press her backside against his front, one arm extended behind her to keep hold on the back of his neck. He presses him palm against her exposed midriff and they continue to dance, the heat between them blinding them to the hordes of people around.

Eventually whatever semblance of self control he maintains deteriorates, sometime between her ninth and tenth shots, when her dancing becomes increasingly dirty and there's no possible way from him to hide bodily evidence of the devastating effect she has on him.

He grabs her wrist and she stumbles behind her as he pulls her out the back door of the club. Jon has her pinned up against the alley wall within seconds, his lips harsh and his tongue demanding. She reciprocates with equal amounts of ferocity, the thrashing of her hips violent and urgent. He has his hand up her skirt and brought her off once, twice and her lips taste of vodka and smoke and her skin in sweaty and _now it's your turn Jon Snow_ and his heart could thump out of his chest as she closes her lips around his cock. He stops her before he can't take it anymore, and thrusts into her, sopping underwear pushed to the side again and again until he spill his seed, legs shaking from exertion.

She grins and kisses him sloppily as they clean themselves up hurriedly.

"Tha' was fun."

Jon groans as he zips his pants closed, still sensitive from so many hours of being tortured by the devilish woman beside him.

"You're bad for my health." Jon sniffs. Ygritte's attempting to hide a blossoming hickey on her neck with her hair. Jon catches a strand in his fingers and kisses bruising skin lightly.

"I love you."

"No time to get sappy, Jon. I've still got ta' beat Sandor."

"Think he's close to losing?"

"Seeing as I've been spikin' his beer all night, I'd say so."

"Ygritte!"

"What? 'E's huge, there's no way I can out drink him. I had no choice but ta' cheat."

"You could've just conceded."

"You know nothing, Jon Snow. I will never concede."

/

"Jon."

"Hmm."

"Jon."

"What."

"Wake up."

"Why?"

"T's too bright." Her voice sounds particularly hoarse.

"The lights are off."

"Close th' fuckin' blinds then."

"Are you hung over?"

"...maybe a li'bit?"

"There goes my day." Jon heaves himself out of bed and shuts the curtains. She whines as he forces her to take four aspirin, some saltines, and down an entire bottle of water.

"You'll thank me later." He replies to her complaints as he swallows some pain meds himself. She harrumphs into his pillow, reaching out blindly for his arm, and pulls him back into bed.

"Warm." She is all she has to say, and curls up into him.

When he wakes up again, this time to her turning over and hitting him in the face, he decides to dress and go upstairs, tasks easier thought than done. He bears a pounding headache as testament to last night's festivities, having drunk fairly steadily in a constant attempt to tamper his body's reactions to Ygritte's dancing.

Still, he imagines he's in a much better state than Sandor and Theon. Even Sansa and Jeyne had got pretty drunk, adding loud giggles and shrieks to the commotion the group made when they all stumbled into Winterfell early in the morning. Jon figures Margaery must be going through seven hells taking care of them.

As soon as Sandor had conceded, in other words passed out, Jon had cut Ygritte off with the drinks. He'd only seen her truly hung-over on two occasions and neither of them were pretty: once after a night of drinking with her squadron, and again to a much worser degree after Grenn's birthday party. Jon is not allowed to speak on the events of that night, nor make remarks in situations similar to that night, or Gods forbid, say in succession the words _table-dance_ or _flaming tequila shots._

The point being, Ygritte makes a great drunk, but her hang-overs do nothing to make it worth it.

So when Jon eventually stumbles up the never-been-steeper basement stairs, he stumbles to the kitchen to make hang-over food. He deliberates for a long time in front of the pantry, leaning against the door, eventually landing on pasta, his with marina, meat and spices and hers plain with butter and salt. Robb joins him in the kitchen as well, looking fresh as a daisy but cooking a whole fish with what appears to be garlic. Jon makes a cup of coffee and leans against the counter.

"Theon swears it cures hangovers." Robb gags, nose plugged.

"Hey." A disheveled Sansa walks unsteadily into the kitchen. "What did Ygritte do to Sandor?"

"What do you mean?" Robb asks, voice nasally as he attempts to flip the fish while keeping his nose blocked.

"I've never seen him like this." Sansa says as she takes a seat that the bar shakily, then cradles her head in her hands. "He puked half the morning and has the worst headache. But I've seen him drink much more and be fine."

Jon shifts his gaze from her guiltily. "Well I think we all have headaches. Ygritte isn't even up yet."

Sansa groans and lowers her head to the counter.

"I don't know what you're all on about, I feel fine." Robb says as he slides the fish onto a plate. Sansa groans again, this time louder.

"At least you can walk further than the distance from the bed to the bathroom." Robb pats her head as he walks by her. "You're better off than Theon at any rate."  
Jon places a cup of coffee in front of his collapsed half sister before taking his and Ygritte's food back downstairs.

Ygritte's up in the sense that she's awake, but remains motionless and prone, lying on her stomach.

"You'll be pleased to know Sandor is suffering upstairs." Jon says when he sees her open eyes. Ygritte grunts, so Jon continues. "Apparently he's been barfing all morning."

"Ha." the woman deadpans. "Least I 'aven't yakked."

"Yet." Jon reclines in the bed, the dark room a reprieve to his headache. He flicks on the bedside table lamp, the softest one in the room.

He places the bowl of plain noodles next to his girlfriend, whose nose scrunches in response. Jon eats his own with gusto.

"Ygritte eat your pasta."

"No."

"It'll help."

"No."

Jon sighs at his obstinate girlfriend, and picks up her bowl.

"Here comes the airplane!"

Ygritte opens her mouth obediently.

After much coaxing and coercing she's finished the bowl and is propped up in a vaguely upright position.

"Was is worth it?" Jon laughs as she extends an arm limply in the direction of the coffee cup.

"Parts of it." Jon hands her the cup but she seems unable to lift it. He pulls a face but helps her drink anyways. "Like th' part when you had me up 'gainst the alley wall. I've got bruises, see?"

And she does, low on her back, he sees them dark and damning in contrast with her pale skin when he helps her take a shower.

She laughs at him when he apologizes quietly under the hot spray of water, but strokes his damp curls gently as he carries her back to the bed, nails scraping lightly against his scalp like he loves.

"Can't believe I've been 'ere so long and I ain't going mad." Ygritte says as Jon slides one of his T-shirts over her head.

"Told you it wouldn't be so bad."

"Hmm." She flops back onto the bed and Jon puts her legs through a pair of his boxers. "I shoulda know it would be okay. You're 'ere after all."

Jon smiles and she reaches her arms in his direction. He admires the sight for a second- she looks impossibly sweet in his clothes- before crawling up next to her.

"I love you." She whispers into his chest.

"...Are you still drunk?"

"It always feels that way, when I'm with you."

He kisses her innocently on the lips and they drift back to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

After the clubbing incident Theon swears off alcohol for the foreseeable future, a declaration meet only with a scoff from Robb.

Ygritte gleefully drives Sandor back to the club to pay off the tab, and proceeds to taunt the giant man every time he picks up a drinks, asking if he "sure 'e can handle it."

It takes Arya four days to forgive everyone for going out without her, no matter how many times Jon stresses that he's _sorry_ but they went to a _club_ and it would have been _illegal_ for her to go. Ygritte takes Arya's side, which doesn't help, regaling tales of the one bar in the North, and how they don't give a shit if you're underage or not. So Arya's fury grows.

Jon's leading Ygritte around the grounds of Winterfell on one of the sunnier days when it happens.

They round a corner and Jon's poor innocent eyes are assailed by the sight of his baby sister and Gendry Waters making out passionately. The young man in question is mostly obscured from Jon's view, what with Arya sitting on his lap, but his straight black hair is unmistakable.

There's a few moments of silence before Arya sees that they've been caught.

"Shit." She whispers and Gendry cranes his neck to lock eyes with Jon. "Shit, shit shit."

"I am going to _kill you."_ Jon roars.                     

"Run away, run away, run away _now."_ Arya chants to her young man, and Gendry wastes no time in listening to her.

"Jon _please_." The small girl leaps up and attempts to restrain him. " _Stop_ , don't, that was the first time anything's happened, and I initiated everything."

"It takes two to do _that_ Arya."

"Ygritte, care to chime in?" Arya seems seconds away from latching onto Jon's leg like a toddler.

Ygritte shakes her head vehemently. "No no no, I've learned not ta' fight when it comes ta' you, little miss."

Eventually however Arya is able to talk Jon down, on many conditions, the most daunting being that he gets to supervise their first date to the movies. Arya tries to fight him on it the entire day leading  up to the aforementioned movie date, but concedes when Ygritte takes her aside and promises she'll distract Jon.

"How are you going to do that?" Arya questions miserably.

"Don't you worry, Jon finds me very distracting." Ygritte winks.

Jon drives them all to the theatre, and Ygritte notices the two holding hands in the backseat but says nothing.

Ygritte manages to keep his attention throughout the film with her snarky comments, and when those fail, her tongue. She persuades Jon to let the younger couple venture off for ice cream alone, and then somehow coerces him into fucking her in the car while they wait for Arya to text for a pick-up.

"Ygritte, this was a _terrible_ idea." Jon pants as she struggles to find the right angle within the confines of the vehicle.

"This was an _excellent_ idea." She shudders as Jon grabs her hips and helps her move with him.

Ygritte thinks that Arya knows what transpired in the car, but the dark haired girl's lips are swollen and Gendry is beet-red when they climb into the car so no comments are made.

"So does that mean I can keep seeing her?" Gendry strikes up the nerve to ask Jon when they arrive back at Winterfell. Jon narrows his eyes.

"She seems to like you, Gods know why. So I'll say yes, for now, as long as you're supervised. And you'll have to tell the rest of the family, because I can't stomach constantly seeing you together, and Ygritte'll get bored."

Ygritte agrees with him in the moment, but then Jon makes up for their awkward and hurried coupling in the car tenfold that night, so as far as Ygritte's concerned, Gendry can go out with Arya as many times as he likes.


	7. Chapter 7

He admits that he should have seen this coming.

And by this he means an all out, to the death water balloon fight.

There are many things he will not admit to that lead to this situation- _I told you that Arya and Gendry would ally-_ and he sees now that there are many things that were out of his control- _is Sansa a part of this fight or not, Jon?_

He told her that he didn't know and her copper brows furrow deeper in concentration. He know what she's going to say before the words leave her mouth. _You know nothing, Jon Snow._

"Well why do you need to know? Sansa's no threat."

"It's called _strategy_ , Jon. You going to stumble 'round blindly while your siblings and their friends whip our arses? Gods you're dim." The freckles of her hairline, the only part of her he can see from their position wedged between the walls of Winterfell, mock him. He does not need to see her face to know the _you-idiot_ expression she makes.

"I had a strategy." He grumbled and reaches to touch the exposed skin there, just there, above the shorts hanging off the narrow frame of her hips.

"Aye, you did bu' then your sister flipped for Gendry, I told she you would, s'now I'm in charge." She turns and grins, wide and bright, and he feels an answering smile spread across his face on its own volition. His hold on her hips strengthens but she pushes his hands away. In a flash she's turned again, strands of her red, red hair tickling his cheek as she resumes surveying the field just visible from their hiding spot.

"Ygritte, if we go out there we'll be slaughtered."

She scrunches her nose at that but gives a curt, accepting nod.

"Likely. But first, we'll live to see them fear us."

She sees something and then she's off, darting around, quick so quick and then down goes Theon, slippery git, and now she's gotten Gendry too from an impressive distance and _get a move on Jon!_

He springs out then and with a solid lob he manages to peg Robb in the chest, then with a flick of the wrist he vindictively nails a still reeling Gendry in the face, and then he gets Sansa too, who yelps in a register he's pretty sure not even Ghost can hear. And it is then he realizes Ygritte's mistake, her grand miscalculation. They forgot if Sansa is in fact playing then...

And the last thing he remembers is Sandor Clegane forgoing water balloons and opting instead to pour an entire bucket of ice water, followed by the bucket itself, over Jon Snow's head.

He should have seen this coming.

When he opens his eyes all he sees is her. She too is drenched, fiery tendrils sticking to her jutting-out collarbones, colorful plastic pieces of water balloons tangled in with all that red, and clear blue eyes full of mirth.

"We lost didn't we?" He groans, trying to push himself up only to realize she's straddling him.

"Aye." She replies, pushing his sopping curls off his forehead and leaning in close, so close, almost close enough, brushing the tip of her nose against his. "Well, you did at any rate. But you wen' out with a bang.  And to see your prim n' proper sister looking like a drowned rat makes it worth it."

"For you, perhaps."

She throws her head back and laughs, laughs, laughs at that, the sun behind her head blinding him to everything but her.

He lifts a hand to pull remnants of a blue water balloon off her shirt, damp and sticking to flushed ivory skin and thinks, not for the first time, how unbearable life would be without her.

"Don't worry Snow, I shall avenge you." Ygritte kisses him quick and hard then darts off to Arya's alliance, which includes Bran, who appeared to be functioning as a human/wheelchair shield, much to the chagrin of Jojen.

Jon relocates himself to lean against his childhood home's walls, content to stay out of the way of the increasingly competitive water balloon fight, which seems to quickly be dissolving to a one on one feud between Arya and Clegane. He smiles as Sansa stomps past him to retrieve a towel from inside muttering something about her sister and how Sandor lives up to his nickname sometimes.

Robb joins him eventually, the ginger of his curls dark and wet as a result from Ygritte's uncanny marksmanship.

"Some girl you've got there " He remarks. Jon nods and smiles and Robb can't help but notice that in all the years he's lived with, fought with, and loved his half brother, he's never seen Jon smile as much as he has in this one summer with the Wilde girl he brought home with him.

The two return their eyes the unfolding war where Ygritte, in a stunning display of athleticism, launches herself off Arya's crouched position and delivers a water balloon right to Clegane's face, effectively ending what would go down in Stark history as the greatest, and unrepeated, water balloon fight of all time. Arya gloats over Sandor's prone form, the scarred side of his face an even brighter red from the impact of the water balloon, rejoicing in her hard-fought victory.  

Jon's eyes never leave Ygritte's body as she sway, sways, sways her way over to him.

"You know we all like her, right?" Robb asks.

"Yes." Jon replies. "But in the end, it wouldn't have made a difference if you didn't"

Robb claps him on the back twice and hauls himself up to go nurse Theon's wounded ego. Ygritte jogs the final few feet and takes Robb's place next to Jon.

He doesn't listens as she chatters, but chooses to focus on intertwining their hands, her thin graceful fingers and calloused palms so light and warm and small in the embrace of his. Her digits skip across the expanse of his palm, following the whorls and swirls of his old burn and he thinks for a moment how out of place her misleadingly delicate and impossibly pale hand looks there in his (but then he notices the deep purple scar across the expanse of her palm and the ragged, bitten nails and thinks maybe he was wrong.)

He's pulled out of his musings as she flicks him on the nose and accuses him of not paying attention, which in all fairness he wasn't.

The late afternoon sun makes her hair flame.

"Kissed by fire" he comments, twisting one of the lighter strands between the fingers of his free hand.

"Just now I'd rather be kissed by Snow." She replies cheekily and he obliges. It starts off impossibly soft and unbearably sweet but soon she's become impatient , shoving her tongue in his mouth, seating herself on his lap and pulling his chest to hers.

He feels like he could lose himself in her forever just then, for ever and ever, but then he hears Theon utter a low, long wolf-whistle, and Arya shout and wrestle poor Gendry into the mud, and he is reminded of their proximity to his young and impressionable siblings.

Jon stands and swings Ygritte into a more innocent position in his arms.

"Done already?" Ygritte smirks, patting the bulge in his trousers condescendingly. He yanks her clever hand up before Bran or Gods forbid Rickon can see, crushing it against his chest, and proceeds to kiss her, kiss away the smirk, deep and thoroughly, and when she's slack-jawed and blessedly silent he carries her to his room.

"Going to have your way with me now?" She teases as he kicks the door open and practically throws her on his bed, the dark possessive _yes_ he growls back somewhat ruined by the bright red blush of his face.

She pulls him down to her and tangles her hands in his hair, curls still damp from Sandor's revenge. Lips pink and swollen, she grins as his lips work magic on that spot, oh yes, just there, on her neck.

"Careful love, you'll leave you mark an' then your family'll know we ain't just chatting 'bout school when we disappear like this." Her raspy voice breaks here and there and he grins against her soft, soft skin.

"Good" Jon replies, moving lower to lick the trails of water down her chest, then down to the flat plane of her stomach. "I want them to know." He yanks down her shorts, the force of his action taking her underwear with them.  "I want the whole world to know that you are mine." Ygritte kick the offending fabric off her ankles and onto the stone floor.

He grins again when he hears her gasp as he lowers his mouth to her. Her hands clutch at the sheets, her toes curling and back arching. She doesn't speak again, not until she's close, so close, and _oh-oh-OH_ Jon Snow...

"I _am_ yours." She  whispers, uncharacteristically quiet, as he makes his way back up to her lips and tastes herself on his lips. "And you are m-mine." The falter in her voice and the tremble of her chin breaks his heart. He frames her face with his hands, his whole world existing between his palms in that moment.

"Yes." He whispers huskily. "Yes, yes I am yours." A soft smile spreads across her face, and Jon Snow answers it with his own.


	8. Chapter 8

Ygritte eventually informs him that she's starved, and pushes herself from the warm cocoon of his bed to take a shower before rejoining the family for dinner. Jon whines as she does.

"We don't have to eat with them."

"You just don't want to face 'em after your defeat." She drawls at him as she disappears into the bathroom. "Coward."

He ambushes her under the hot spray, and she laughs at him as her nearly slips, catching his elbow with her calloused hands. Ygritte looks so joyful just then that he can't help but match her expression.

"Careful there, crow." The insulting label turned endearing nickname makes him smile. Her naked body slides closer to his, and the water drips off them both. "Don't cripple yourself, else I'll 'ave to leave you."

"You wouldn't." Jon replies confidently, framing her face with his hands. "You love me."

"Aye." Ygritte's gaze is piercing and deep, but warm and tender as well. "That I do. And you love me."

His heart soars at her confidence in the statement, and he moves in close, very close.

Jon's dark eyes burn into hers, and she suddenly feels very fragile.

"Ygritte, will you-"

"Jon Snow, if you ask me to marry you I swear to the gods I will cut your cock off to use as th' ring."

His fit of bellowing laughter startles her, almost more than the prospect of him proposing naked in his childhood home's basement shower.

"No, you wild girl! I know more than to ask you that now!" He lets out some residual chuckles and the redhead looks affronted. "You're a free woman, Ygritte, and that I know." He explains.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow." Ygritte replies, and Jon can't quite decipher her expression, the plethora of feelings and reactions gracing her inimitable features.

 "No, I suppose not." He chuckles again and strokes her flushed cheek. "What I was trying to ask though, well, will you let me wash your hair?"

Ygritte blinks rapidly at him, and, shell-shocked, nods.

"I've always wanted to wash your hair." Jon says as he massages his shampoo (she forgot to bring her own) into her scarlet locks. Ygritte moans under the pressure of his fingers, and Jon begins to plot how he'll use the mistaken proposal against her.

It felt nice to have something on her for a change.

He has to have her again, there beneath the scalding spray and she finds his struggle to find a satisfying position hysterical.

/

They emerge later, Ygritte's hair done up in a messy, dripping bun and smelling like shampoo.

They find everyone in the courtyard, with Ned barbecuing a nearly comical amount of meat whilst little Rickon excitedly chats about the events leading up to the water balloon fight to his mother. Catelyn gives Jon the typical disapproving look as he enters, eyes darting down to his and Ygritte's linked hands. Ygritte herself misses the look, instead laughing loudly at the sight of Gendry covered in mud trying stoically to ignore the pokes and prods of an equally mud caked Arya.

Jon tugs his cackling girlfriend over to Robb and Theon's picnic table, neither of whom missing the red hickey adorning Ygritte's neck.

"Why's your hair still wet?" Asked previously unnoticed Bran as the pair sat down.

"I had to 'ave a shower cause Jon Snow can't keep it in his pants." Ygritte replies with a wink, pulling a platter of appetizers towards herself. Jon quickly asserts, face burning, that no, they were doing coursework and Ygritte had a shower because she smelled bad, that's all.

"Ah, coursework, is that what they're calling it these days?" quips Theon over Robb's booming laughter. Bran quietly asks Jojen of they're talking about what he thinks they're talking about, and Jojen just shakes his head and mentally curses Ygritte and Theon's tactlessness.

Ygritte shucks a carrot at Theon's head and then contents herself to curl up into Jon's side and munch on appetizers as they wait for the meat to finish cooking.

"You're going to spoil your appetite." Jon remarks, drawing himself from a heated debate amongst the boys about the upcoming football match between King's College and Storm's End.

"I'd think you'd know by now that _nothing_ can spoil my appetite." Ygritte replied lowly.

"Aye, I do know, you minx." Jon whispered, breath tickling the shell of her ear. He leaves the conversation open for her line, the one he's heard a thousand times, with all her different inflections in her shockingly raspy voice, heard screamed and cried and howled and whispered.

"You know nothing." She replies with a roll of her eyes and he's comforted by the familiarity of it. "But you are learnin', I'll give you that." He kisses the side of her head at that and doesn't miss the blush smattering across her freckled cheeks.

His thumb skims across the contours of her cheekbones.

"Thought I was the only one who blushed like a maiden."

She snorts at that and moves, swift as a cat, to get up. Her grin tells him that she knows how his eyes sweep the curve of her backside as she stands, and the way he clears his throat after she kisses the crown of his head makes her damn sure he felt her breasts pressed against his back.

Theon waggles his eyebrows at Jon as Ygritte sways her way over to the barbeque, slimy salacious comment held back only by a warning look from Robb.

Ygritte perches herself on the stool next to Ned and the gargantuan barbeque, grabbing a beer, effortlessly engaging the typically tacit man in easy conversation.

Jon envies her in that, her casual, natural way with people, how the blunt straightforwardness of her character meshes so simply with his father's deep seated values of honesty and morality.

Robb meanwhile, pulls him back into the conversation.

"Jon thinks that Storm's End will win the league, no question, but I think that King's College has a better shot."

Jon scoffs. "Stannis is the better coach, even if King's College has better players, you can't beat that kind of leadership."

"Yes, but Jaime Lannister is back from his injury, and that Bronn bloke is tough as balls."

/

Arya meanwhile saunters over to where Jon's girlfriend is conversing with Father.

"Dad, we're _starving_!" She wines. "Can't you cook any faster?"

Ned chuckles. "No, love. And you'd do well to remember that patience is a virtue."

Arya rolls her eyes. "But Ygritte and I destroyed the boys this afternoon and now we need to replenish our strength!" Ygritte holds her palm up for a high five and Arya slaps it resoundingly.

Ned shakes his head at his youngest daughter's antics and promises her the first slab of steak. Arya, pleased with herself, trots off to preemptively get her plate.

"Putting my boys in their places, Ygritte?" Ned asks her as he flips a flank of meat.

"Some more than others." She replies nonchalantly, and Ned smiled at that, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

" I expect so. But Jon's a good boy." He said seriously.

"A good man." Ygritte revises and Ned nods curtly at that.

"Aye, man now." He glances at long legged, coltish Arya, and then his eyes flick to Sansa talking in close quarters with Sandor. "Children grow so fast, despite your hopes otherwise. I can remember when..." He drifts of then, into a memory of the time when Rickon suckled at Cat's breast and Arya desired his company over that of her band of boys. Coming out of it, he addresses the young woman again.

"You, I think, grew faster than most." His remark is almost a question in its delivery.

Ygritte is silent but nods minutely in conformation.

"Jon did as well." He continues. "I think it made him very serious, too serious sometimes. Which is why I think you're very good for him."

Ygritte smiles. "I'll be taking that as permission to keep taking the piss out of him." Ned snorts at that. From behind her perch comes a groan.

"Dad. What have you done to me?" Jon strides up and positions himself between Ygritte's knees, facing his father. She throws her arms around his neck, hands splayed on his chest and her sharp chin digging into his shoulder.

"I'm taking you away before my father condones any more of your bad behaviors." He hooks his elbow underneath her knees and carries her piggyback style back to the picnic table, not before she snags a chicken drumstick from the grill. Ned sees, but lets her have it with a wink.

"He's right you know. I'm good for you." She grins wickedly and bites into the flesh off the leg. He deposits he on the table and reaches in for a bite of her food. She wrenches it away with a growl.

"Mine. You wore me out today."

Ned hollers that the meat is up and Arya quickly presents her plate with a sarcastic bow.

"Now go get me some more Jon, else I won't let you tire me out any more tonight."

Her red-faced crow returns with her prize, a plate piled high with seemingly enough food to feed the entire population of Flea Bottom for several years. Ygritte throws the bone from her decimated chicken leg to the perpetually underfoot Ghost and proceeds to chow down.

"So." She says between mouthfuls. "Wedding tomorrow."

Jon nod stoically. "You'll get the pleasure of meeting the rest of the family that hates me."

Ygritte snorts and picks up and ear of corn on the cob. "Not t' worry. I'll protect you from the hoard of Tully's. With the hair I could almost be one of 'em. I'll disguise me self and take 'em down from the inside. Fancy high folks don't stand a chance."

Jon smiles internally at the way her nose crinkles with her words, and the lines forming at the edges of her joyful eyes.

"I love you." He says and the deep swing of his voice over the word 'love' makes Ygritte's stomach swoop.

"And I you." And Jon doesn't miss the slight pinkness rising prettily on her cheeks but decides not to comment.

She so beautiful that night, she's so beautiful every night, and Jon's never felt so _complete_ as he does when her lips gently meet his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real quick, I just want to thank everyone whose left kudos, comments, subscribed or even just read this story. It means so much, truly. More to come, and once again, thank you :)


	9. Chapter 9

Keeping in line with what seemed to be the running theme of waking Jon Snow up too goddamn early in the morning, Sansa bursts into Jon's room at nine A.M the morning of the wedding.

"What the fuck?" Ygritte rasps, sitting up abruptly when Sansa flicks the lights on, breaking Jon's tight embrace.

"Ygritte you need to come with me." Sansa says, her voice as light and floating as ever, but with a sense of urgency. "Also don't listen to anything Arya says."

"What?" Ygritte asks, rubbing her eyes, and Jon sits up too, pushing her fiery locks to the side and resting his chin on her shoulder, his scruff scratching her skin and his eyes optimistically shut.

"All us girls need to get ready for the wedding together! And with your help I bet we could get some make-up on Arya."

"Sansa, you can't steal my girlfriend from me for the whole day to play dress up." Jon argues and Ygritte pats his cheek approvingly.

"Wedding's not till three, right? The fuck I 'ave to get ready now?"

"Jon!" Arya bursts around the doorway. "Ygritte! Please you have to save me, Sansa and Margaery, they're forcing me, and Mother is too, Jon you can't let them!" Arya runs across the room and throws herself on the bed.

"What?" Jon's half asleep brain can't keep up with Arya.

"Wake up!" Arya slaps him. "They want me to wear a dress!"

"I'm sure Gendry'll like that." Ygritte cackles. Arya whirls on her, an outstretched finger an inch from Ygritte's nose, voice low and threatening. "I have to wear a dress, you have to wear a dress."

"I'm an adult." Ygritte replies, leaning back against Jon's bare chest. "I get to dress meself. But you're in high school and you live 'ere so I reckon you better listen to your mother." Her heat is warm against him, and Jon feels his desire for her swell. He's had her countless times, yet his need is infinite.

"Please Ygritte!" Arya pleads. "Don't leave me with them." Ygritte gives a long suffering sigh and cranes her neck to give Jon a quick peck. Arya squeals in victory. Jon grabs the back of her head and turns the peck into a short but passionate kiss.

"See you later I s'pose." Ygritte sighs when it breaks and heaves herself out of bed. Jon waves goodbye as she follows Sansa frog-marching Arya away, seemingly unconcerned that she still wears a tank top and pair of his boxers.

Ygritte has to gag as she enters Sansa's spacious, to say the least, room. The entire space smells overwhelmingly of flowers and perfume. Sansa pushes Arya down into a chair and Ygritte sees her own expression mirrored on the younger girl's face.

"Margaery, Jeyne! I got them!" Sansa says to the other girls in the room triumphantly.

"Oh well done!" Margaery claps in delight, her perfect brown ringlets bouncing gently. "This is going to be so fun."

Arya regards her critically. "I haven't even had breakfast yet." Ygritte nods emphatically in agreement, unkempt hair falling in red rivers out of her shoddy bun.

"We can send for it." Sansa brushes them off with a wave. "Besides, the boy will be in the kitchen by now, and they always make a mess of things. Ygritte, if you need a shower the bathroom's through there, towels in the cupboard."

Ygritte narrows her eyes at the thinly veiled demand, but figures Sansa's ensuite washroom is better than the basement's so she goes anyways.

"Feel free to use any of the fragrances!" Sansa calls after her and Ygritte growls.

Ygritte struggles to figure out which taps turn on what-why there are more than two, hot and cold, she'll never know- and eventually just gives up and decides to have a bath instead. The huge marble tub fills slowly, and she contents herself to gaze around the huge bathroom. There were more mirrors than she could count, and she seriously believes she could get lost in here. She shakes herself from the thought and strips, then lowers herself into the porcelain tub. The water in scalding, but Ygritte relaxes into it anyways. Her eyes close as she leans her head against the padded rim and thinks that maybe she could get used to luxury if it meant baths like this.

She's nearly fallen asleep when she hears the soft tapping of feet across the tile floor.

"What the-?" Ygritte exclaims as Margaery Tyrell walks into the room. The redhead isn't one to be shy about her naked form, but Margaery remains a relative stranger to her, and an ego shatteringly beautiful one at that .

"Sorry!" The other girl says, seemingly embarrassed. "I just wanted to explain."

"Explain what?" Ygritte asks warily, folding her arms over the rim and pressing her front against the side in a poor attempt at modesty. "Why you're ambushing m' bath?"

"No, though I am sorry. I want to explain this." Margaery gestures to the door she came in. "Yours and Arya's essential kidnapping." Ygritte nods at her to continue. "I'm sure you'd much rather be with Jon than his sisters and some strangers, especially because I imagine this day will be rather hard for him. But this, this is for Sansa... She...well, you've probably heard some of it, but Joffrey, he really was awful to her. Then Ramsey was even worse." Pity and sadness is evident on Margaery's delicate features. 

"I'm no stranger to men who ain't good to women." Ygritte says thoughtfully, her accent sounding thick and rough next to Margaery's light, posh inflection.

"Aren't we all." Margaery sighs.  "Anyways, it's taken her a long time to be happy again, and we all do what we can to keep her that way. Sandor's good to her, but she's wary around men now. And things like this, while they may seem shallow and stupid, they make her happy."

Ygritte nods slowly in understanding.

"So you'll stay? I promise I'll try to reel Sansa in with concern to you." Margaery asks. Ygritte nods again. "And you'll help make Arya stay?" Ygritte nods yet again, this time with a bit of a smirk, and Margaery grins in return.

/

"My clothes are in the basement." Ygritte says when she emerges from the bathroom, a soft pink towel wrapped around her body and a white one twisted around her head. "What are you doing to Arya?"

Arya's lying flat on the bed, with her sister sitting on her stomach and Jeyne holding her feet.

"Trying to paint her toenails."

"I can paint my own nails!"

"A color other than black!"

"...sometimes I paint them dark blue."

Margaery shakes her head. "Here Ygritte." She says, passing her a light robe with roses printed on it. Ygritte eyes it as if it were a snake, ready to jump and bite her.

"Arya, sit _still_!"

" _Don't tell me what to do_!"

"Oi!." Ygritte yells over the commotion. "What if Arya gets to paint her own feet and you all stop screaming."

Sansa stands up and Arya pulls her feet under herself defiantly.

"Please though, can you not paint them dark?" Sansa asks.

"Darling, what if Arya wears your old light blue dress? Dark blue would match quite nicely." Margaery speaks diplomatically. Sansa seems to be considering it.

"Only Ygritte lets me do her hair." Sansa leverages. Arya immediately swings her gaze to Ygritte, who has donned Margaery's robe.

"Oh please, Ygritte, I don't want to wear pink please, please, please?" Ygritte's a bit shocked to hear quick, clever Arya begging so blatantly. She turns to Sansa.

"So I'm a bargaining piece then?" The Stark girl blushes lightly but doesn't deny it. "Fine." Ygritte says to Arya. "But you owe me now, junior."

Sansa sequels in delight and pulls out a dress Ygritte assumes is meant for Arya and a frighteningly large basket of hair care products.

 Ygritte and Arya give simultaneous groans, Arya flopping back onto the bed, Ygritte sinking down beside her.

"This is hell." Arya says, turning her head to the older girl.

"Aye. Makes 'em 'appy though, a this way maybe they'll leave us alone during the actual wedding."

"We can only pray."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry for any/all errors in this chapter slashthe whole story. im really bad at catching them. also, the next chapter will be the last one


	10. Chapter 10

After Ygritte's stolen from him, Jon joins Robb in the courtyard, where the men are tasked with chopping firewood. A chore easily delegated, but the men find the simple work both easy and relaxing.

Robb's already well underway be the time Jon makes his way to the court, his shirtless torso shiny with sweat. Jon picks up and axe and deftly twirls it in his hands, the weapon crude and familiar.

"Decided to chip in, have you?" Robb laughs as Jon trades his long sleeved shirt for a pair of gloves and begins chopping.

"Got to prove that I'm good for something." Jon shrugs with a grin. "Other than as your mother puts it 'unleashing a plague of depravatity' upon Winterfell."

"Good to know some things don't change, eh?"

Jon barks a laugh, and Robb is shocked to see the casual, joking manner in which Jon regards Catelyn's continued rejection of him.

"Ygritte's certainly not helped." Jon chuckles as he slices his way through a particularly big piece of firewood.

"At least Father likes her." Robb, not to be outdone, splits two logs with one stroke.

"Ah, but Father's always been soft for the ones we bring home."

"Ones, as in plural?! Seven hells Jon, as I recall, Ygritte's been the only one ever."

Jon shakes his head and smiles. "You think I need you to tell me that? Gods, she never lets me live it down."

Robb enjoys laughing at his brother's expense, something he never experienced before Ygritte came along and filled in the chip on Jon's shoulder. And while with two can't hear it, up three stories in Winterfell Ygritte leans out Sansa's window complains that she's missing a sweaty, shirtless Jon Snow.

"Where is she now, anyways?" Robb asks after a period of silence marked but the sounds of splitting wood.

"Ygritte? She was ambushed by our sisters and the Tyrell girl."

"I don't envy her."

"You've got that right."

The pile of uncut firewood diminishes at a steady rate between the strength of the two men, and even faster when Theon joins them. When it's nearly gone the three are beckoned inside and instructed to ready themselves for the wedding.

"We've got a drive to get there, what were you thinking, waiting until now to get ready?" Catelyn scolds them as she ushers the large, sweaty, shirtless pack of men inside. "You'll all just have to take Jon's car after you dress." Robb looks as sheepish and guilty as he did when as a child Catelyn found him playing with Ned's paperwork, building a battlement for his plastic soldiers with the folders and binders.

"And for the love of the Gods, take a shower, all of you."

The car ride to the Twin's is marked with bickering from Robb and Theon, and ever growing anxiety from Jon. The situation is not helped by Ghost's whining in the back seat.

"Mother's asked her relatives to lay off." Robb tells Jon as they pull up to the Frey residence, noticing his brother's equitable angst. Jon doesn't reply, just nods curtly. Even now, as the trio walk from the car towards the wedding, several Tully's noticeably glare as Jon Snow walks past.

"I'll find you later?" Robb asks as the two enter a festooned courtyard, already being beckoned off by Catelyn to network.

"Sure." Jon replies and Robb is swallowed up by the crowd. Jon feels lost for a second, and looks around for red, as he always does, looks for her.

 He spots a flash of color, but it's several shades too lights and much too long to be Ygritte's. It is however someone he knows.

"Jon! Hello! You've finally arrived." Sansa glides over to him, silently appraising his garb. "Don't you look handsome!"

"You look lovely, Sansa." Jon says, and she does, in a dress of the palest pink and hair left free and curling save for a circlet of winking gemstones. His half-sister, usually just one inch shorter than Jon and certainly not in her heels, seems nonetheless dwarfed next to Sandor, who appears very uncomfortable in his suit but can't keep his eyes off the vision in pink next to him. Jon gives him a nod.

"Have you seen-"

"Ygritte?" Sansa cuts him off. "Yes, I have she was right behind me, with Margaery, I'm not sure where they went off too. Oh, please excuse me Jon, I must go say hello to Walda or Mother will kill me."

Sansa floats away and Jon makes his way through the filling-in crowd, headed towards the outskirts where he's least likely to draw attention. From his new position he can see everyone, and can just barely hear the fringes of conversation.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jon hears Arya's voice and narrows his eyes at the sight of her bickering with an uncomfortable and slightly awe-struck Gendry.

"Nothing! You just...it's just...."

"Come on then, spit it out Gendry."

"You just look very beautiful, that all."

"....Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I could still kick your ass though."

"Yes, I know."

Jon shakes his head at the sight of his baby sister reaching out to intertwine her fingers with Gendry's, and decides he's going to have to have another chat with Gendry before he leaves. He loses sight of them in the crowd, but is compensated in the best way possible.

Because there _she_ is.

It's fairly clear that Sansa got to her, and it's evident that Ygritte's unhappy with that fact, but Jon can't help but admire his sister's handiwork.

Her vibrant hair is pulled up into a series of complicated braids, with a few strands artfully left free here and there. It appeared that dove grey blossoms, flowers Jon recognizes from the North, has been woven creatively in and out of the braids, easily distinguishable from the various shades of red of her tresses.

Her make-up is minimal, but as she never wears any, the affect to him is profound. Darkened eyelashes frame truly piercing blue eyes that appears bigger than they ever had before, while her smooth creamy skin is perfect in contrast to the slight color on her cheeks. Sansa seems to have lost in a battle to hide Ygritte's freckles, and for that Jon is grateful.

Ygritte turns her back to him just then to engage Margaery in conversation, and Jon swallows visibly at the sight. While the deep violet dress she's donned has a fairly modest front, its left her entire back bare, save two flimsy crisscrossing straps. He can see the implication of her dimples of Venus, just above where the flowy skirt begins, and he wants nothing more than to press his thumbs to them and wrap his hands around her waist. With her movement she's stepped into the sun, and her hair lights up, turns to flame, the tendrils left out of the braids making little rivulets of fire, whisping around the back of her elegant neck.

Despite her lovely appearance, there's still something _wild_ about her, and Jon just can't quite put his finger on it.

He excuses himself from the painfully boring conversation he'd apparently been having with one of the literally hundreds of Frey's present and pushes his way through the crowd in her direction.

He's just behind her when she turns, and the bored expression on her face breaks into a wide sincere smile. She stands on her toes and throws her arms around his neck, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. Jon's arms snake around her waist and lift her feet just barely from the ground.

"Missed you." She whispers to his shirt collar, with a bit of a laugh. "Ain't even been a day, isn't that stupid?"

"Yes." Jon teases and she brings her lips to his for a quick, sticky kiss that tastes of lip gloss. He lets her down but keeps one arm wrapped around her waist.

"You look..." Jon has to stop and clear his throat and Ygritte looks down at her sandal clad feet, eyelashes brushing the tops of her cheeks. Jon lifts her chin to look at him, taken aback once again at how intensely blue her eyes appear. Dazzling, really. "You look so... stunning."

"I should hope so, after what your sister did to me." Ygritte grins up at him. "You 'ave no idea what I've been put through."

Jon laughs at her and she pokes his stomach and tells him not to mock her pain else she sick Sansa on _him_ next time.

"Don't think I won't, Jon Snow. You'd make a very pretty girl."

"Oh, I agree." Arya jumps in, having successfully weaved her way through the crowd, Gendry in tow.

Arya certainly did look very beautiful as well, dressed in a blue that exactly matches her big, round eyes, hair combed and styled into loose, short waves. She sports even less cosmetics than Ygritte, and also retained a certain sense of naturalness in her appearance.

Jon rolls his eyes as Arya and Ygritte collapse into sniggers.

"I knew I would regret the day I introduced you two." Jon mumbles.

"Poor boy." Ygritte replies, stroking his cheek affectionately. "You'll be out of your misery soon."

"What?" Arya turns her exquisite eyes to Jon. "You're leaving so soon?"

"I have to go back, you know that." Jon says, his chest sinking at her heartbroken expression. Tears well in her big eyes before she throws her arms around Jon's neck.

"Jon-"

"Arya, listen to me." Jon speaks quietly into her ear. "This isn't goodbye. It isn't."

"Feels like one." Arya mumbles back.

"No, little one. As long as you're on this earth, I'll be here too. To protect you." Jon closes his eyes. "Even if you don't need me to anymore."

Arya's voice is soft and sad in his ear. "I'll always need you, Jon."

When they break apart Arya squeezes Jon's hand, once, twice before heading indoors. Jon watches her go, and Ygritte returns to his side as he blinks quickly to dissipate the forming tears.

"Shall we find the bar before it all starts?" She suggests. Jon clears his throat as Arya disappears inside, and tightens his hold on Ygritte's waist.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Jon had doubted that any amount of alcohol could make the next few hours bearable, and he was right. The ceremony was long and tiresome in the Twins' stuffy and dark hall, and Jon stoically endured no end of pointed looks and whispering from the Tully portion of the audience. However, Ygritte's scathing comments and pointed yawns make him laugh, and never once does she let go of his hand.

The reception is far livelier, for Walder Frey quickly becomes bored and retires with his newest wife after about twenty minutes, along with many of his elder children. There is music, and semi-edible food, and the Tully's begin to wane in there silent abuse of Jon (either that or Ygritte's sharp glares and growls put them out.)

Either way, Jon begins to enjoy himself a bit as he sits alone (Ygritte disappeared a while ago, he's not sure where), watching Robb dance better than anyone else, and seeing Shireen try to teach an earnest Rickon how to can-can. His heart lifts to see Bran on the dance floor, encircled by his friends and spinning madly.

He spots a flash of red and a splash of violet, and is amazed to see Ygritte's coaxed Arya onto the floor. They dance wildly, but there is grace beneath every action. Several of the male Frey's have their eyes trained on the red head and Jon feels himself prickle in anger.

His constant surveillance is interrupted by Robb taking a seat next to him.

"When are you going to leave?"

Jon looks ahead stoically. "Right after this. Winter is coming and duty calls."

Robb shakes his head. "I'll see if there's anything to be done about Thorne."

Jon's eyes flick downwards. "Doubtful. But thank you." Robb rests a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Take care of yourself, Jon."

"You as well, Robb."

Someone calls for Robb and the moment ends.

"I guess this could be goodbye then?"

Robb's smile is tinged with sadness. "Let's just say, until we meet again."

"Until we meet again then, my brother."

The two men embrace briefly before Robb is pulled away, and Jon is reassured endlessly by the familiar expression on his brother's face as he walks away, solemn and sure and eternally kind.

A slower song comes on, and Gendry strides over and pulls Arya into a slow dance, the girl's positively shocked expression melting into a soft, happy one. Ygritte beckons to Jon as she sidesteps Sansa and Sandor, but Jon shakes his head.

"Not 'ere, you idiot." She says when she's close enough. He grabs her outstretched hand and she leads him outside, to the now empty courtyard. The music is softer from the distance, and the light of the moon illuminates the empty area.

Ygritte puts one hand on his shoulder and he wraps an arm around her waist, hands clasped tightly between their chests. He rest his forehead on hers as they turn slowly in circles. The song changes eventually, but they just keep spinning.

The moonlight is white and soft, and she's warm, so warm, and vibrant and alive in his arms.

Ygritte flinches as something cold touches her cheek.

"Summer snow." Jon remarks, as the small flakes begin to flurry around. Jon brushes a few flakes off her lips with his thumb before he leans in to kiss her slowly, passionately, and she thinks how perfect the world can be as his tongue slides against hers and they continue to dance alone in the snow.

She always, always tells him he knows nothing. But he knows with every fiber in his being, straight down to his core that he loves her.

He feels very small and very big at the same time, and strangely like crying. But her lips demand his attention so Jon holds her close and revels in the taste of her, and knows in that moment, just knows, that it's her, it's _her_ that makes everything in this gods forsaken world worth it.

"Come on." He says, breaking her kiss. "Let's go."

"Where?" Ygritte asks.

"North. South. Back to those caves. Across the sea. Nowhere. Everywhere." He throws his head up and stares at the snowflakes coming down with an increasing ferocity. He turns and wraps his arms around her waist and spins her around in a circle, her feet lifting off the ground.

She laughs and laughs. Jon grins and breaks the embrace, but keeps his grip on her hand and they begin to run.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow."

"I know everything, Ygritte."

"Well then. Prove it"

And he does.

_fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp, that's all folks! again, thank you thank you thank you for reading, reviewing and commenting, it means the world.


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